


Warning Signs

by Rawrbin



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Disguise, Dubious Consent, False Identity, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Mistaken Identity, Self-Esteem Issues, Trauma, Victim Blaming, slight case fic, slight unreliable narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawrbin/pseuds/Rawrbin
Summary: The kiss is rough and demanding, the pressure where their mouths meet knocking his head back against the wall roughly. It’s nothing like Tim had imagined kissing Dick would be. In his fantasies Dick had been slow and soft, tongue gently coaxing its way inside his mouth. He thought Dick would be all skill and finesse.Instead it kind of feels like he is trying to force his skull through Tim’s skull by way of their teeth.-----When Red Robin gets a surprise visit from Nightwing in the middle of a case, something seems off. He knows they need to get back to rounding up the bad guys, but it's hard to focus on that when the aforementioned long time object of Tim's affections has suddenly becomeveryinterested in him.  Unfortunately for him not everything is as it seems...
Relationships: Clayface/Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes you solve a case through crafty detective work. Others you solve through sheer dumb luck. 

Tim usually prided himself on the former, but today he was accepting of the later. He had been soaring the streets on patrol when a light from what should have been an abandoned warehouse caught his attention. He went over to investigate and discovered that fate was on his side this evening. 

“Looks like I’ve finally found our missing tech,” Red Robin informs Batman over the comms. There’s been a recent string of robberies of high-ticket items from Wayne Tech. The problem was, they hadn’t found any leads until now: No break-ins, no evidence left behind, like the criminal had just walked in undetected and took everything unhindered. Even when questioning witnesses, no one had seen any suspicious persons around the time of the thefts.

Tim knows he’s finally got them now though, as he peers into the warehouse below him through a skylight. The only question left is, who is behind it? He can see men moving around like ants below him, busily loading the stolen products onto a truck with an out of state plate. It’s a good thing he’s found them when he did; by tomorrow who knows where the stolen tech would have been transferred to. 

The men all look like hired muscle though, he can’t yet spot anyone who might be the brains behind the operation. He decides to wait a bit longer before intervening, in case he can gather any more information. Plus it will be easier to take their stolen goods back if they’re already conveniently loaded - as long as he stops them before they drive away it’ll be no problem. 

There’s no evidence of any further action besides truck loading for a while though. Tim’s leg starts to go numb from sitting in one spot too long, and he reaches down to rub the pins and needles away. Obviously the head honcho is not going to be making an appearance tonight after all. Disappointing, but Tim can’t wait any longer to interfere, as the goons are almost done loading now. He plans his trajectory and has just moved into position, ready to throw the skylight open, when all his waiting finally pays off. 

“You boys done loading the truck or what? Hurry it up!” 

Tim tenses as the top dog he’d been waiting for finally makes an appearance. This was not what he had been expecting. He quickly reaches up to turn on his comm link. 

“It’s Two-Face,” he tells Batman, “He’s the mastermind behind the robberies.” 

“Two-Face is in Arkham. Has been for months. We saw him there when we brought Scarecrow back in last week,” comes Batman’s reply, echoing Red Robin’s thoughts exactly.

“Well apparently someone’s been letting him out on furlough,” Tim responds. 

There’s a poignant pause where Red Robin knows he and Batman are sharing thoughts again: They’re going to have to re-examine all the Arkham employees. Again. And it’s going to be as much of a pain as usual to try and weed out the ones who’ve been corrupted. 

“Can you handle it alone?” Batman’s reply finally comes. 

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll call if I need back up.” 

No reply comes after that, but Red Robin doesn’t expect one. That’s not Batman’s style. Instead he just switches off his comm and prepares for his grand entrance. 

He makes quick work of the goons, who clearly were not expecting him. They probably thought that they were in the clear after getting the truck loaded. As he fights his way through them he sees Two-Face running off through the warehouse. He hasn’t had time to tie all the goons yet, but they are all down at least, so he prioritizes catching the Arkham-escapee. By the time he reaches the place where Two-Face darted off from though, the rogue seems long gone. Tim hurries through rows of crates and cargo, but there isn’t a soul in sight. 

He pauses for a moment and listens. Then he can hear it, running footsteps. Two-Face. He takes off, chasing the sound, grappling over some of the crates so he can get ahead to cut him off. Tim waits in position as he hears the footsteps approaching, bo staff ready to get him the instant he turns the corner. He’s not going to get away. 

They’re getting closer. He’s here. Coming around the corner. Tim’s going to time this right. Three… two… one! Red Robin swings his staff and- 

“Nightwing?” 

Tim manages to stop himself just in time, bo staff only an inch from his skull. Nightwing looks startled and puts his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Woa, careful there!” he teases, but his tight smile tells Tim that he was not exactly enjoying almost being taken out with friendly fire. Tim lowers the staff, still slightly shocked. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“I thought you might need backup. Did you get Two-Face?” 

Tim wants to complain - he had said he would _call_ if he needed backup, and Dick’s surprise visit almost got him injured. He can’t be mad about getting to see the older man though (The man he may or may not be harboring a major stupid crush on). Not to mention, Tim _had_ let Twoface escape, so he supposes the help was needed. He would have appreciated a quick heads up over the comms before Dick just dropped in though. Then maybe he wouldn’t have been caught off guard and looking incompetent in front of someone he is desperately trying to impress.

“No. He got away while I was taking down the henchmen,” Tim sighs. He had wanted to wrap this up quick and neat. After weeks working on this case he thought he would finally have something to brag about. “You can start the search for him if you’ve got the time. He can’t have gotten too far. I’d better head back to finishing cuffing the henchies. Gotta call it in too. Actually, I’d better do that first.”

“Oh, no need for that,” Nightwing responds. For some reason Tim thinks he seems oddly nervous. 

“Why not?” he questions. 

“I already called it in while you were chasing Two-Face. Took care of the, uh, henchies, too. So, everything’s wrapped up.” 

Red Robin is surprised. Nightwing had had time to do all that in the few minutes while he’d been searching the warehouse for Two-Face? Tim feels a little ashamed of himself. There’s a reason why Nightwing is known as the best in the business he supposes. 

“Right. Thanks. Well, I’d still better go back to keep an eye on things until the police arrive. Some of that tech could be dangerous in the wrong hands, we don’t want to risk anything happening to it before it gets back where it belongs.” 

He turns to head back, but Nightwing grabs his arm tight, stopping him. 

“What?” he asks, confused.

Nightwing bites his lip, glancing off to the side for a moment before speaking. 

“Don’t go back. There’s… something else I’ve gotta show you.” 

Tim’s curiosity is peaked. Was there more going on here than meets the eye? Perhaps Nightwing was already working the case from another angle, and that’s why he was already at the warehouse. He wasn’t usually the type to hide things from them, especially concerning case work, but Tim decides it will be best to just follow him now and see what happens. He’s sure an explanation will be forthcoming. 

Nightwing gestures the way to Red Robin and the two of them start navigating the warehouse together. Dick is keeping unusually close to him, and their arms accidentally brush as they walk. A small shiver runs through his body at the contact which he prays the other man didn’t notice. They slowly get further and further from the loading bay where the goons had been working, and reach the section with the side offices. Tim enters one at his partner’s prompting. Nightwing pulls the door shut behind them with a loud click. 

Tim looks around the room, lit dimly by moonlight coming in from the far window. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. Desks, filing cabinets, by all accounts just a regular office. He wonders what he’s supposed to be seeing here. 

Turning back to Nightwing for an explanation he suddenly finds him extremely close, practically bumping into his chest as he turns around. He flushes in a way that is very unbecoming of an adult vigilante. His eyes flicker up from the toned chest to his face, gaze lingering on his lips. Dick has always had beautiful full lips (the kind that makes Tim long to press his own up against them), but today they somehow look even plumper than usual. 

He realizes he’s been staring too long and quickly looks up, but it’s too late. Nightwing is staring back down at him. He’d been caught. 

He takes a step back, trying to make it seem as if he hadn’t just been ogling Nightwing’s face. Time to bring things back to business and distract from what Tim has made into a horribly awkward situation. 

“So, what did you want to show me? This just looks like an office,” he says, voice neutral, not betraying his inner distress. 

Nightwing does not seem to care about his distress though, because he ignores Tim’s question and instead asks one of his own. One which sends him into full blown panic mode. 

“You like me, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, he likes him very much, but he can’t just say that, can he? _Can he_? He examines Dick’s face, trying to read the sentiment behind the statement. Despite Tim’s fears, he can’t find a hint of disgust or anger written there. Instead he’s greeted with Nightwing’s half-lidded eyes and slightly parted lips. He looks almost... excited.

Tim’s heart is pounding in his chest harder than it had been when he’d been sprinting after Two-Face. The idea of giving himself away had mortified him, but was it possible that Dick somehow returned his feelings? Dick-Grayson crushes were like fantasies of winning the lottery - everyone has them but no one actually thinks anything will come of them in reality. Was it possible that he had just hit a jackpot? He needs to respond though, and after another tormented moment of fear and indecision he finally decides honesty will be the best policy. At least if Dick doesn’t return his feelings he can finally get the rejection out of the way. 

“Yeah, I do,” he says quietly, but with conviction. He watches Dick’s face for his reaction. Tim’s heart feels a bit lighter when he sees his lips curve up into a huge grin. 

“I knew it,” he says, and the next thing he knows Tim is being shoved back against the wall, Nightwing’s body pressed up against his body, and Nightwing’s lips against his lips. 

The kiss is rough and demanding, the pressure where their mouths meet knocking his head back against the wall roughly. It’s nothing like Tim had imagined kissing Dick would be. In his fantasies Dick had been slow and soft, tongue gently coaxing its way inside his mouth. He thought Dick would be all skill and finesse. 

Instead it kind of feels like he is trying to force his skull through Tim’s skull by way of their teeth. 

It’s not entirely unpleasant though, and this is _Dick Grayson_ that is kissing him. Dick Grayson, who he’s admired since he was a kid, and who had transformed his adoration into full blown affection as they’d worked together side by side over the years. He’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. So he just kisses back, entering his own tongue into the game and trying not to wince when Dick bites down on it a little too harshly.

Later, when they aren’t all frenzied new passion in a tiny warehouse office, then he’ll teach Dick the way he likes to be kissed. The way he likes to be touched. He flushes at the thought of it, still in a bit of disbelief that this is actually happening, heart fluttering happily in his chest. Despite the roughness of the kiss he can feel himself starting to harden up in his pants. A fact which makes him quickly sober to the situation. 

“Dick wait,” he says, turning his head away from his kiss. It proves difficult though, because Dick chases him, desperately trying to recapture his mouth. 

“Dick, I’m serious, stop-” he says, a little more force. He pushes at Dick’s shoulders, trying to put some space between them. Dick doesn’t move back, but he stops his mouth for a moment. When Tim looks at him his expression is hard set, annoyance written across his face. It makes him feel a little guilty for cutting him off.

“We shouldn’t do this now. Not here. Plus… Two-Face…we should be looking for him. We need to go.” It pains him to say - hell, he never thought he’d be the one turning down Dick Grayson’s advances - but they have responsibilities. They can’t shirk them just because they’ve chosen now to admit their feelings to each other. Plus Tim really doesn’t want their first time to be in a dirty warehouse office. He was thinking more along the lines of a decked out luxury hotel suite. Maybe with some rose petals on the bed. Soft music playing. Okay, so Tim is a bit of a romantic, but he’s pretty sure Dick is too. Or he _was_ sure. Now, not so much. 

“He can wait,” Dick tells him, voice rough. He tugs at Tim’s bandoliers. “Take these off.” 

“Dick, what…” Tim says confused. Dick can be playful, but he usually takes their vigilante work seriously. Maybe he had been pinning after Tim even worse than Tim had been pining after him. Still, they really need to go-

“Come on Red Robin, I wanna see you. All of you.” 

Dick’s gravely voice sends shivers through his body. Dick wants him. How Tim had longed to hear that. But this still isn’t where he wants to share their first moments together. 

“Dick, I want to show you, god. I want you too. But, here? Now? There will be time later.” 

“Just a little more. Please.” 

Dick punctuates the statement by pressing a thick thigh up into Tim’s crotch. He gasps, and his hips reflexively move to meet it. Tim is weak. Dick Grayson _makes_ him weak.

“Okay. Just a little more. But I don’t want to go all the way right now….” Tim trails off as it is evident Dick isn’t really listening. The moment he had given his okay the older vigilante had begun tugging at his bandoliers again. Tim reaches up to unhook them and allows Dick to take them. He carries them to one of the desks on the other side of the room and places them there. Tim wonders why he didn’t just set them down on the desk next to them, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because Dick is back quickly and tugging at his shirt and cape. Those he does toss on the floor beside them.

Soon Tim is half nude and he and Dick are frantically making out again. Dick’s hands roam his sides, and his thigh pushes back up into his crotch. Tim bucks into it, trying to remind himself not to let this go too far, even as his body craves Dick’s touch. He settles his hands at Dick’s waist, squeezing there but not quite daring to touch more yet. He isn’t sure that he’ll be able to stop himself if he does. 

Dick’s hands make their way up his torso and come to his nipples. He gives them a small flick and Tim gasps into his mouth. He’s always been very sensitive there. After a few more light flicks that get Tim moaning, he gets rougher, pinching and twisting them. He tugs on them harshly and Tim gasps again, this time from pain rather than pleasure. 

“Dick,” he tries to get out, but Dick is still slotting their lips together roughly, not letting Tim get a word in. Tim reaches up and grabs Dick’s wrists, but Dick just ignores him, continuing his rough pulls and grinding his lips and thigh into Tim more violently. A wave of panic rushes through him, his heart clenching in his chest. Why isn’t Dick listening to him? Tim reaches his arm up between their faces, forcefully pushing Dick’s mouth away even when he resists.

“Dick, I’m serious, stop it!” he practically yells, emphasizing it with a small shove. 

Dick finally steps back, creating the barest of spaces between them, and drops his hands from Tim’s nipples. Tim is gulping in air, heart racing in his chest, and not from arousal. He looks up at Dick and his expression is all fury. Tim’s stomach drops. 

Something is wrong, he realizes. Very wrong. Dick wouldn’t act like this. He would never force something like this onto anyone, let alone cause pain to those he cares about. 

Drugs, mind control, blackmail, a laundry list of excuses run through his mind, but at the forefront is the terrifying thought that Dick hadn’t actually wanted this and now he may hate Tim forever. He feels sick. He isn’t sure if he wants to puke or curl up into a ball and cry, but he does know that he needs to save either of those reactions for later. For now he needs to quickly find a way out of this situation.

“I’m done,” he says firmly, “We need to go now.” 

Dick doesn’t move. Just stares him down. 

“Dick. Move,” he orders, “I’m leaving.” 

“You’re not going anywhere Red. We’re not finished yet.” 

_Red_. Why was he calling him- 

Dick barrels into him, pushing him roughly back against the wall. He grunts as his head hits it, but he’s a trained fighter and his instinct takes over. He raises his knee up between Dick’s legs and lands a blow there. Though it’s weakened by the awkwardness of their position it’s enough to make the older man recoil a bit, and he takes advantage of it to force him back with a shove. He goes for a right jab next. Although it was perfectly aimed it somehow misses, and instead Dick is wrapping a strong hand around his wrist. Tim reaches for his chest, ready to use a gadget in a moment of panic, but then he realizes - his bandoliers are on the other side of the room. He has no weapons. 

Had Dick planned this? 

He has no time to dwell on it because even as he’s struggling Dick has managed to capture his other wrist. Tim strikes out with a powerful kick, but once again his blow doesn’t make contact despite Dick being right in front of him. The hit should have landed; he doesn’t understand. 

Dick moves, twisting his arms painfully, forcing them behind Tim’s back. Something soft and warm wraps around them before hardening like a rock. Tim has no idea what Dick used to bind him but when he struggles against it it’s completely solid and unbreakable. 

“Dick, what are you doing?” he screams, trying to reason with any sane part of his older brother that may be left in there, “Stop! Please!” 

Dick ignores him, instead shoving him down roughly onto the desk in front of them, with so much force that the desk moves too, letting out a loud and terrible screech as it slides across the floor. 

A hand tangles in Tim’s hair, forcing his face down into hardwood as Dick leans over his body. He ruts his hips up against Tim’s then and he feels something hard pushing up against his buttocks. His body goes stiff. No. In any other circumstance that action would have had Tim hard and needy himself, hell, he’s even had fantasies about Dick taking him like this, leant over a desk in the manor library. Now all he feels are fear and confusion.

He tries to fight back, push himself up off the desk, but Dick has him thoroughly pinned. All his struggles serve to accomplish is grinding him back against Dick’s hardness. He stops fighting and lays back on the desk. His heart is pounding and he’s breathing heavily from the effort. He shuts his eyes tightly and tries to think. Usually he is always the one with the plan to get them out of any tight situation. Now it’s like his mind has gone blank. He’s never been in this kind of situation, never been faced with the threat of… _rape_ (he doesn’t even want to think the word because there’s no way it’s actually going to happen to him, right?), and the fact that it’s _Dick_ of all people who’s holding him down… he feels like he’s in some kind of nightmare, like a bad dream he has no control over. He can’t think of an escape method or a plan or anything other than _no no no, don’t let this happen_.

“ _Good boy,”_ Dick coos into his ear, “Now stay down.” 

All of Tim’s muscles tense, but he doesn’t fight again. He just focuses on breathing and trying to ignore the pressure welling behind his eyes. He is not going to cry right now. 

Dick seems pleased with his response, or lack thereof. He takes a small step back, and for one second Tim feels relief as Dick’s hardness is finally removed from his backside. An instant later Dick’s fingers hook into the waistband of his pants and before he can react they are pulled down roughly, exposing his bare bottom. 

“No, no, no, Dick, please, don’t do this,” he cries out, making one last effort to knock sense into him. He tries fighting again, pushing back with all his force, but Dick lays his weight on top of him, crushing his body into the desk. He feels that hardness against him again, this time rubbing against his bare flesh. Tim thinks he might be sick. His stomach in hard knots, muscles tense, heart racing, lungs hyperventilating, head pounding, every inch of his body screaming at him that this is wrong, wrong, wrong, and this shouldn’t be happening. 

It is happening though and there is nothing he can do to stop it. 

He feels the press of Dick’s cockhead against his hole. 

Tim braces himself with cold resignation. 

A loud bam echos through the room, startling both of them. Dick pulls back and Tim wants to cry in relief. Someone has rescued him.

Looking up they see the shattered pieces of the door that Dick had locked behind them earlier now scattered across the room. And there, standing in the now empty doorway, framed by the light streaming in from the warehouse like a heavenly glow, is none other than Nightwing.


	2. Chapter 2

“What the hell?” 

The shouts of the second Nightwing who just entered the room echo Tim’s own thoughts exactly. A cold feeling runs over him as he looks between the two Nightwings and realizes just how badly he has messed up this evening. 

The new Nightwing charges across the room lunging for the Nightwing on top of him. He jumps out the way though, nimbly avoiding New Nightwing’s blow. Tim is left fully exposed, hyper aware of his nudity in the scant few seconds it takes New Nightwing’s gaze to scan over him. His initially shocked expression immediately transforms into fury, and he once again swings a fist towards the first Nightwing with a vicious cry. 

Tim watches as New Nightwing parries him back, the first Nightwing narrowly avoiding the blows with clunky sidesteps and maneuvers that are not in Dick Grayson’s usual repertoire. It seems that New Nightwing has got him now though, as he launches into a handspring-turned-flying kick that _is_ a one hundred percent Dick-Grayson original move, and flies straight towards him. Instead of landing though, the kick seems to go straight _through_ him, as well as the rest of Nightwing’s body. New Nightwing (who Tim is now fairly certain must be the real Dick Grayson) gives a startled cry as he somehow passes through the impostor's body to land on the other side of the room. He wouldn’t be Dick Grayson though if he couldn’t catch himself from a fall, and that he does, rolling gracefully into a somersault as he makes contact with the ground. 

From the landing he swings around effortlessly, foot extended out low for a sweeping kick while his arms go to his back for his escrima. The impostor dodges the kick, but doesn’t have time to react to the twin escrima already swinging at his body. Dick activates the electricity even before they make impact. They both stare in horror as the fake Nightwing’s body distorts and warps, his body drooping and flesh seeming to melt off his face. He’s screaming, body twisting and writhing, seemingly trying to pull itself back into shape, but eventually he loses the battle. All that remains of Nightwing fades away and in its place is a towering form of man, dripping in dark brown mud. 

It’s Clayface. 

And Tim had kissed him. 

He thinks he’s going to be sick. 

There’s no time for that now though. The situation is far from over, and Tim quickly slips back into vigilante mode. Bruce had trained him well; there’s no room for feelings during a mission. The shock from the escrima may have caused Clayface to lose his form, but he’s already recovering from the attack. He’s not the type of villain that can be brought down by normal maneuvers. 

“Freeze capsule! In my bandoliers, on the desk!” Tim yells across the room to Nightwing, and the older vigilante works fast, spinning and lunging for the desk, digging through Red Robin’s pouches. Clayface charges after him, swinging an arm in his direction. Nightwing is quicker though. He ducks under the blow and responds with his own, jamming his fist and the freeze capsule into Clayface’s chest. He manages to pull his hand back just as it activates, narrowly avoiding being iced along with their enemy. 

Time seems to freeze for a moment along with Clayface’s body, the situation too surreal. They both just stare at the world's-worst-excuse-for-an-ice-sculpture in shock as their adrenaline slowly wears off and Dick catches his breath from the fight. 

Finally Dick looks up though, eyes meeting Tim’s from across the room, and reality crashes back down: He’s lying naked across a desk where Dick had just caught him cuddled up with his doppelganger. His hands are still bound behind him, so he can’t even cover himself. Shame and guilt and a whole flurry of other emotions crash over him at once as he lays there vulnerable and exposed.

Ever the perfect hero, Dick crosses the room in an instant, going for the bindings. Tim is surprised when he hears Dick’s escrima activating again. The bindings soften and pulsate when they are electrocuted, and with another sickening twist of his stomach Tim realizes he had been bound with a piece of Clayface’s own body. 

As soon as he’s free he goes for his pants. He doesn’t look up at Dick as he fumbles with the clasps, but he’s hyper aware of him hovering overhead. When he’s finally decent again, Dick speaks. 

“Tim… Are you okay? I mean, obviously none of this is okay, but…,” Dick trails off. 

_Is he okay?_ The question is funny but Tim can’t quite seem to laugh. The only way he could be any further away from “okay” than he is would be if Dick had waited any later to show up and save him. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks instead of answering, somehow getting a strange sense of deja vu. 

“I heard you and B talking over the comms. I was near Arkham so I swung by to check on Two-Face, and he was still in his cell. The real Two-Face. Obviously there was something suspicious going on so I came to see if you needed any help.” 

If he needed any help. Obviously that was a big embarrassing resounding “ _yes”_. 

"Clayface must have been using Two-Face's likeness so he could take advantage of his henchmen while he's in Arkham," Dick muses. 

That strikes something in Tim's mind, sending a wave of panic washing over him.

“The henchmen! The truck! Are they still here?” 

“I didn’t see anyone else in the warehouse. I heard noise coming from this office and I followed it…” Dick tells him honestly. 

_“Shit.”_ Shit, shit shit. He had fallen right into Clayface’s trap. He’d let himself get distracted and led away so the goons could escape with the tech. The whole mission has been a bust. And he was going to have to explain this to Bruce later as well. What could he possibly say? That all it takes to completely undo him is a half-assed impression of Dick Grayson? He lowers his face to his hands and rubs at his temples, trying to stave off his panic.

“It’s okay, Tim. We’ll find them. You don’t have to worry about that right now.” 

How could he _not_ worry about it? Getting that stolen tech back was part of the mission, and the mission is his life. He starts doing mental calculations, trying to figure out how much time has passed and how far they could have gotten. If they leave quickly it may still be possible to catch up to them tonight. 

“Tim…?”Dick asks him hesitantly. 

“Yeah?” he responds offhandedly, still mentally mapping out Gotham to decide which roads the goons would have most likely taken their truck on. 

“You… you knew that wasn’t really me, right?” 

Tim freezes. Just like that, Dick’s words undo all the careful compartmentalizing he had done. 

No, he hadn’t realized that wasn’t him. Because Tim was an idiot. God was he an idiot. It had been so obvious, staring him in the face the whole time. Two-Face shouldn’t have been there - Dick shouldn’t have been there. Dick wouldn’t have had time to sort out everything and call it in. Dick wouldn’t have led him away to a backroom while they were still in the middle of a job. Dick wouldn’t have looked nervous. Dick wouldn’t have kissed him. 

It hits him now, really hits him. That _hadn’t_ been Dick. Dick had never kissed him or touched him or said he wanted him. Dick never _would_ do those things. That should have been the biggest clue. 

But for a few, brief happy moments Tim had let go of all sense and let himself believe the lie. Let himself believe Dick could be his. 

And then Dick had- no, not Dick, _Clayface_. _Clayface_ had hurt him. Had tried to force him. Would have… raped him, if Dick hadn’t shown up. And now Tim is going to remember that every time he looks at Nightwing. 

The emotion he had been suppressing hits him like a tidal wave and suddenly he is shaking, curling in on himself as he folds to the ground. Dick goes down with him, wrapping his arms around Tim and pulling him in close. This is the real Nightwing, a man who is kind and gentle, even though he should be disgusted at Tim for what he had done with his doppelganger. 

Tim holds on tightly and sobs into his chest, knowing their relationship will never be the same again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for slight unreliable narrator and self-victim blaming.

Tim should have paid more attention. 

Not just to the warning signs that were there in advance, but also to what happened afterwards. In the aftermath of everything he had crumbled down into an emotional wreck and let Nightwing guide him out of the building without paying attention to where they were going as he wiped his tears. 

It was the second time that night he had thoughtlessly followed a Nightwing. 

Only this time he didn't find himself crowded into a small office but rather curled up in the plush leather seat of the Batmobile. By the time he gained situational awareness and clarity again it was too late. He had looked up through the windshield to see Nightwing's figure, back to Tim as he gave Batman his report. 

Tim's stomach turned to ice immediately. 

He hadn't wanted Batman to know. The situation had been unbearable enough without revealing his massive failure to his mentor.

Tim was still kicking himself for losing his cool. That was what compartmentalizing was all about; better to focus on what's happening without being distracted. He should have told Nightwing he was fine, asked him not to mention anything, and saved his self-pity party for when he’d gotten home. Letting his emotions take over and losing control of the situation... look what that had gotten him. 

Benched. 

When they'd returned to the manor Bruce, not Batman, had told Tim he needed to take some time off. The frustrating thing was, Tim could accept the benching as a punishment (he had shown a huge lapse in judgement unfitting a Bat after all), but punishment wasn't Bruce's reasoning. Tim still isn't sure what details Nightwing had told him, but Bruce had asked him if he needed a medical exam and then asked if he would like to enroll in _counseling_ , so Tim can only assume the answer was "all of them" plus Nightwing's own suspicions. Tim's entire body had stiffened at the suggestion and he had tried to brush his father off while insisting that nothing had happened. Bruce had just given him a disbelieving look and delivered the news that he was off patrol for the time being. The unspoken part was that it was for him to regain control of his mental health. 

And so it was that Tim has now passed an entire week without donning the Red Robin costume. On the first day Damian, unknowing and uncaring of the _why_ , had teased him mercilessly about being off duty. "Further evidence of your incompetence, Drake." Tim hadn't even had the energy to disagree with him. Bruce had snapped when he was finally in earshot of one of Damian's comments though. The following day and ever since Damian had been oddly quiet around Tim, the teasing about being off duty vanished completely along with his usual Tim-related complaints. The realization that Bruce had probably told him what happened, or at least some of it, made Tim feel sick again. He's spent the better part of the week trying to avoid either of them, preferring to hole up in his room or the library. 

He's in the library now, studying maps of Gotham and surrounding cities and trying to figure out where the stolen Wayne tech could be used to do the most damage. Tim may be banned from going out as Red Robin, but that isn't going to stop him from working on a case in other ways. Besides, having something productive to work on is much better than sitting in his room doing nothing while his mind replays his experience with Clayface on loop and constantly reminds him what an idiot he is. 

Anyways, the stolen technology is dangerous in the wrong hands, and based on the information he recovered when he hacked into the Batcomputer it still hasn't been located. There was surprisingly little data in the computer about the case though, which meant either Batman had given up on it for some reason, or he predicted Tim would look into it and intentionally didn't enter the data to the computer in order to hide it from him. Frustratingly, Tim believes it to be the later. 

Tim has to do this though. He needs to rectify his mistake. He'll never be at peace until he does, even if working the case does make it difficult to stop thinking about his horrible encounter. 

Shaking his head to rid his mind of the memories he leans closer to his maps, as if them taking up his entire vision will be enough to make them take over his entire brain as well. The plates of the truck the henchmen had loaded the tech onto weren’t Gotham plates, that meant they were likely moving it out of the city. There were checkpoints and weigh stations for trucks of that size along all the main highways, but Tim hadn't found any reports about trucks illegally bypassing the stations when he'd hacked the police files. He'd even tapped into the security feeds of all the major highways exiting the city to review the footage in case the police had missed something. They hadn't. Which meant they had been smart enough not to use the highways. There were only so many ways out of Gotham though, a byproduct of being located on an island, and if they hadn't taken a highway there weren't many other options. 

Scouring the map Tim finds one such location, a road so small that it probably wouldn't even be worthy of designation if it weren't for the fact that it contained a bridge. A small, rickety bridge, even by Gotham standards, if Tim's memory serves him, which is only wide enough for one car, and goes directly from Gotham into a Blüdhaven side street. 

Tim's stomach clenches. 

Aside from the benching and Damian's awkward interactions, the other thing which has made the past week unbearable was the lack of a certain someone. Someone who usually pops into the manor at least a few times each week to sample Alfred's cooking, and who normally blows up Tim's text inbox with stupid jokes and the occasional relevant article to a case. Tim hasn't seen nor heard from Dick since the incident. Honestly he can't blame him. The older vigilante must be disgusted with him after discovering him naked with his doppelganger. Finding out that Tim has a crush on him, and that he was willing to act upon said crush with Dick's look-a-like, must have certainly put Dick off of Tim forever. His hands reach up unconsciously to tighten into his hair, fingers curling around the strands with a sharp tug as he tries to fight off the feelings of shame and guilt which threaten to overwhelm him again. 

_Stupid. Idiot. It obviously wasn't him. You call yourself a detective and you couldn't even notice that? Dick would never be interested in you. He doesn't want you. He didn't even want you as his Robin. You're lucky you're even allowed to participate in this family at all. They'd be right to throw you out after what you did with Clayface. How could you abuse Dick's likeness like that? Kiss him. Touch him. Without Dick's permission. If you'd used your brain for one second you'd have realized it wasn't him. Admit it, you took advantage. You're just as sick as Clayface._

"No!" 

Tim cries out, jerking up straight in his chair. His heart is racing a mile a minute. 

He looks around the empty room frantically. Thankfully no one was there to witness his mental breakdown. Slouching back down into his chair he runs a shaky hand over his face as his heart continues pounding in his chest. 

He needs to get his shit together. The mission comes first. There's no time for breakdowns. He has to make peace with the fact that Dick hates him now and move on. There's still stolen tech to find. There will be much bigger problems to face than Dick hating him if someone nefarious gets that up and running. And Clayface has proven himself to be nothing but nefarious. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself he goes back to the map. If the truck left the city unseen it's likely it went over this bridge. Pulling out his laptop he begins searching for locations near the bridge that may have accessible security cameras. He's going to find the stolen tech and take down Clayface's henchmen. And this time he's not going to allow himself to be fooled by anyone. 

Climbing up to peek into the high window of the warehouse Tim is pleased to see that he was correct. He has once again found their stolen tech, and this time it was through his detective work and not by dumb luck. After determining the bridge they left on he had managed to track down footage from a street-facing ATM security camera that confirmed his suspicions. He had lost the trail then, but determined that if Clayface had been using Two-Face's likeness for his crimes, that he may be taking full advantage of it. This warehouse was owned in the name of one of Two-Face's top henchmen, and was also conveniently close to Blüdhaven's main electrical grid. A suspiciously ideal location. 

Thankfully Tim had been right. The tech had the potential to do a lot of damage here, and based on the Batcomputer files the Batman himself still hadn't made any progress with the case. Through the window Tim can see that Clayface's (or rather, Two-Face's) henchmen have been hard at work assembling the stolen tech into a weapon, completing their boss’s plan even without the boss around to guide them. They look to be putting the finishing touches on it now. With the massive electrical access so close by this thing is going to be powerful. Tim's arrived just in time. 

He pulls himself up on his grapple line, positioning himself with the small window so he can kick through when a familiar voice makes him freeze. 

"Red Robin, is that you?" 

Tim is paralyzed. Inside his chest his heart is doing its best imitation of a snare drum. He swallows. He needs to look up. To acknowledge the voice. But somehow emotion has taken over logic now that he's faced with a confrontation he isn't ready for. 

"Red, what are you-?" He gasps as if he's suddenly realized something. "Tim, it's me, really me, I swear. For your last birthday I got you that red sweater with the gold trim and Hood mocked it because he falsely claimed I have bad taste in fashion but you wore it all the time anyways until Robin splashed oil on it and you had to throw it away because even A couldn't get the stains out."

It's him alright. The real Dick Grayson. Tim's face feels warm at the detail Dick gives to the story. Had he really been paying attention to Tim that much? Jason had been right about the sweater, it was very tacky, but Tim had worn it constantly anyways because Dick had given it to him. He had been furious when Damian ruined it, on purpose, while they were working on their bikes in the garage. The only false part of Dick's story was that he had thrown it out. After Alfred had failed to get the stains out (much to the old butler's chagrin) Tim had kept it buried in one of his drawers, which thinking back on it now was super pathetic. He's glad Dick didn't know that part or he'd probably hate Tim even more. 

Finally forcing himself to look up he sees Nightwing's head peeking over the edge of the roof and peering down at him. Tim nods in acknowledgment and the pinched expression on the older vigilante's face loosens into a small smile. 

"Come up here a second, we need to coordinate."

It's the sensible thing to do, even if his emotions rebel against the idea, so Tim climbs his grapple line until he reaches the rooftop. 

Standing face to face with Nightwing he can see that the smile adorning his face is a bit pulled, as if he's not quite sure what to say to Red now that he's got him here. Tim isn't sure what to say either, gaze landing on Nightwing's shoulder to avoid looking at him directly. 

"B told me you were off patrol," Nightwing finally starts and Tim grimaces. He was still benched, but that hadn't stopped him from suiting up and heading out on his own after Batman and Robin had left the cave for the evening. After disabling all the tracking devices in his suit and cycle of course. 

"I'm fine," he replies in a way that is both a non answer and yet conveys everything Nightwing needs to know about the level of approval Red Robin has gotten to be out on patrol. "Why are you here anyways?" 

He still doesn't meet Nightwing's face when he asks the question. 

"I've been working the Wayne tech case while you were off duty," Dick replies hesitantly, and suddenly things make sense. Batman hadn't been hiding the information from Tim. He hadn't had any information because Nightwing was the one who had been gathering it. Tim hadn't even thought about hacking into his files, probably because he had been avoiding thinking about the older vigilante all together. 

"Tim," Nightwing says softly. A gentle hand lands on his shoulder and Tim flinches hard. The hand withdraws at lightning speed and a tiny frown tugs at the edges of Nightwing's mouth. 

"Sorry," he says, arm dropping uselessly down at his side as Tim curses his involuntary reaction. "Tim, I have things under control here. You should go home and rest." 

His heart aches. He's being rejected by Dick again. And Tim knows that unlike the Robin incident this time he deserves it. He had completely betrayed Dick's trust with what he'd done. But while Tim might not be able to gain Dick's trust back, he can make the situation with Clayface right by getting their stolen property back. 

"Look Nightwing," he says, tone full of determination and finally looking into Dick's face for the first time, "You have every reason to not want to be around me right now, and I don't blame you. But I’m not leaving. The mission comes first. There are some bad men with some dangerous tech down there, and from what I saw it won't be long until they finish assembling their weapon. It could be completed any minute, and I'm not going to let that happen. So let's take them down together while we have the chance, and after this if you don't want to work with me anymore that's fine. But there's no time to argue now, we have to take them down before it's too late." 

Tim prides himself on being able to read people, but something pained flashes across Nightwing's face which he can't understand. The other vigilante stares at him with his mouth slightly ajar, and for a moment Tim thinks he's going to argue. Finally the older vigilante takes a deep breath and responds. 

"Tim. I don't mind working with you, I was just concerned. There's clearly a lot we need to talk about. But you're right, we need to take care of this weapon problem first, we'll talk after."

Tim nods in acknowledgment even as his mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts ranging from shock, suspicion, and dread. At the gesture Dick seems to relax a little, Nightwing's easy grin reclaiming his face as he rests a hand on his hip.

"So, Red Robin. What's the plan?" 


	4. Chapter 4

Nightwing comes flying in through the north window, doing a triple somersault in the air before extending his legs and landing a double-footed kick to the center of a henchmen’s chest. Red Robin flies through the south window almost simultaneously, landing on his bo staff and using it to pole-vault forward and deliver a no-less-effective yet much-more-energy-efficient kick to another’s. Both the henchmen are downed by the single blows they take, leaving two masked vigilantes on the warehouse floor, chests heaving with adrenaline and exertion as they stare down the remainder. 

Red Robin’s eyes dart around the room quickly, taking in the scene. Several goons are advancing on him, but that isn’t what he’s concerned about. There is a suspicious lack of henchmen around the weapon, meaning they may have already put the finishing touches on it. The giant mounted blaster sits in the center of the room with four large cables, each thicker than one of Red Hood’s thighs, attached. They lead out of the room, presumably to somewhere that links them to the nearby power station. Red Robin can only pray that the connection hasn’t been made on the other end yet.

The first adversary reaches him and Red Robin takes him out easily, wrestling him to the ground and getting a zip-tie around his wrists. While he’s bent over another comes at him with a pipe, but Tim rolls out of the way easily and the man brings it down on his own felled partner’s shoulder. Tim winces a bit in sympathy as he hears the man cry out in pain. He doesn’t stop moving though, coming out of the roll in a crouch, then sweeping low with his bo staff extended and knocking two more attackers off their feet. 

It’s only been a week since Red Robin fought this particular bunch. They are proving no more difficult to take down this time than they had been then. The only reason these men weren’t already in jail was because of Clayface’s trick and Tim’s own complete and total idiocy. He’d allowed himself to be fooled and manipulated. He’d allow Clayface to touch him, to- No. Time to stop that train of thought. Inducing another panic attack will be no help to Tim now. He’d promised himself no distractions this time. 

Giving his head a little shake in an attempt to clear his mind Tim springs back up into an upright fighting stance, bo staff at the ready as yet another goon foolishly approaches him. Tim is going to take him out. Take them all out. No distractions, no mistakes, no screw-ups. 

Only fate is once again against him. 

As Tim swings his staff around at the new attacker, he hears a shout from one of the goons he had fell. Only this wasn’t a shout of pain, it was a shout of warning. And it was not aimed at Tim.

“No you idiot! That thing’s got enough juice to take out two city blocks. You’ll fry ‘em all!” 

Tim whips around at lightning speed. His heart stops in his chest and time seems to freeze momentarily as he takes in the scene before him. Three henchmen are advancing on Nightwing, forcing the vigilante back in the direction of the weapon. The weapon which is now manned by one of the henchmen who has fired it up and aimed it right towards Dick, seemingly uncaring or unknowing of the consequences it holds for his own teammates or the subsequent blocks of buildings and people beyond the warehouse walls. 

Tim watches in horror as a ball of energy grows at the tip, making an ever-increasing humming noise which soon deafens the henchman’s shouted warnings. Surely it is too late to stop now and there isn’t enough time for Tim to figure out how to even if it isn't. He does a quick mental calculation and deciding it’s worth the risk he throws an exploding birdarang towards the base of the weapon. Normally he would never chance throwing explosives at such an unknown and potentially volatile device, but now it’s either that or watch as Nightwing, mere feet from the machine, gets vaporized. 

“Nightwing, run!” he shouts, praying that Dick can hear him through the comms. The noise of the weapon charging is deafening. 

There is no time though. No way for Dick to get even more than a step. 

The birdarang explodes on impact. At the same moment the weapon fires. 

The blast from the birdarang sends Nightwing flying. Not in the beautiful, graceful way that normally steals Tim's breath, but in a gut-wrenching jerk of uncontrolled flailing limbs. The blast also jolts the base of the weapon, angling it up just before it fires. The released energy beam blasts through the warehouse roof and far off into the sky. As the weapon tips it carves a line across the roof, decimating support beams and the integrity of the building as burning debris rains down in its wake. 

A loud clatter fills the warehouse when the weapon finally crashes to the ground, but the roaring noise and the bright beam of energy blissfully stop. It only had enough charge for one short blast. Short, but devastating, much like Tim's encounter with Clayface. 

Scanning the warehouse, now cluttered with fire, smoke, debris, and panicking henchmen, Tim makes locating Dick his top priority. Finally he spots him, but it does little to quell the painful clench of his chest. The blast had thrown Nightwing at least fifty feet, and he's sprawled out on the ground on the opposite end of the warehouse. He's not getting up. 

“Nightwing! Status.” Tim calls through the commlink. He tries to hide the panic in his voice as he begins sprinting his way towards the fallen Bat, dodging around the flaming wreckage. Nothing else matters other than making sure Dick’s okay. 

“I’m alive,” the reply finally comes. 

Tim finds himself able to breathe again.

Dick’s alive. Though while that’s better than the alternative, the response means Nightwing is definitely injured. 

“I’m coming!” Tim reassures him, begrudgingly losing his line of sight of the other vigilante as he has to carefully maneuver around broken pieces of sheet metal falling from the roof. 

“No! Help them, not me.” 

Tim freezes. He looks around. The goons who had been previously backing Dick towards the machine are now pinned under a large steel beam. Tim can’t hear them over the roar of the fire and the telling creak of the last vestiges of the warehouse’s supports but he can see their mouths wide in alarm and arms pushing hopelessly against the beam, clearly desperate and calling for help. 

He almost argues. The building is moments from collapsing and there is no time. Nightwing is more important; these men are the ones who assembled the dangerous weapon in the first place. Tim knows he can’t argue with Nightwing though. The man would never forgive him if Tim saved his life at the sacrifice of others. He rogers an affirmative and begins running in the opposite direction. 

When he arrives next to the men who were his enemies mere moments ago a look of grateful relief washes over their faces. Even up close he can't make out their voices over the chaos around them, but he doesn't need to. He knows what to do. 

Tim doesn't bother trying to lift the beam outright - he knows he can't. Instead he fashions a lever using his staff and another piece of fallen debris. His strength is only enough to lift the bar an inch or two, but it's enough for the men to wiggle out. Releasing the lever with a grunt Tim feels very grateful that he reinforced his staff again recently. 

The men are bruised, and have probably inhaled more smoke than is medically advisable, but otherwise seem unharmed. He directs them to a nearby window and helps them climb out. The entire wall wavers. 

Not good. The whole place is about to collapse. Tim seeks out Nightwing again. It's difficult through the smoke but he can just make him out. Dick's hauled himself up into a half sitting position, leaning against a crate. A good sign. 

Tim takes one step in his direction when he hears it. A terrified shout, just barely audible over the raging flames now encompassing half the warehouse and getting ever closer to Nightwing. Groaning he changes course, going back the way he came. Couldn't these goons take care of themselves? It was the least they owed Tim after everything. 

It takes Tim a while to locate the man. The warehouse is filled with smoke now, making it impossible to see. Tim pulls out his rebreather as it gets worse. He begins to get frustrated; every second he spends looking for this henchmen is one moment farther from him helping Nightwing. He continues making his way, dodging flames and climbing over debris, following the faint noise of the shouts. 

Finally Red Robin finds him. He feels slightly guilty at his annoyance when he sees that it's one of the men he'd zip-tied before, arms still pulled behind him. The man isn't pinned as the others were, but he is trapped. A ring of flaming debris surrounds him on all sides. Sweat is dripping down his face, making odd lines through the smokey cinder covering it. Tim has never seen such a look of pure relief as the one that greets him when the man notices his appearance. 

"Hold on!" Tim yells, though he's not sure if he can be heard or not. He pulls a freeze capsule from his bandolier and tosses it at the fire. It breaks open in an icy burst and Tim suppresses a shudder as his mind unhelpfully supplies him with memories of the last time it had been necessary to use one of the capsules. A small area of flame was doused with his efforts, but the roaring fire soon covers the area again. One capsule isn't going to do it. 

Pulling the remainder from his belts, Red Robin hopes he won't be needing any more to get out of here. 

"Now!" he shouts to the man as he throws the capsules all at once. Whether the man can hear him or not is uncertain, but he takes the opening to escape his fiery prison either way. 

The ice has already melted by the time he reaches Red Robin, and not moments after the flames retake the area. 

Tim can see his mouth forming "thank you thank you thank you," over and over, but he has no more time to spare for this man. He quickly slices through the zip tie (wincing guilty as he notices it's begun melting - the man likely has burns on his wrists) and leads him to the exit. The door-frame collapses seconds after the man makes his escape. Tim has no hope of leaving that way now, but he doesn't need to. What he needs is to get to Nightwing. 

Red Robin makes his way back despite the lack of visibility. He'd memorized where Nightwing was. He's going to get to him. 

The frame that had crumbled in front of him seemed to cause a chain reaction, bringing the surrounding areas down with it. Tim keeps running north towards Nightwing, even as the entire south side of the warehouse collapses in on itself. It shakes the whole building and Tim has to quickly dodge as another sheet of metal roofing cascades down in front of him. He leaps over another pile of debris, realizing belatedly that it's the remains of the weapon. Guess recovering the stolen tech is out of the question now. 

Battling through the smoke he finally makes it to Dick's position. Only Dick isn't there. Only the half-burnt remains of the crate he had been leaning on are. 

Tim's panic returns full blown. Until now he'd been running on adrenaline and had the challenge of navigating the warehouse to distract him. Now his heart heaves as he looks around frantically, trying to find his lost partner. 

"Nightwing!" he shouts. It gets swallowed up in the noise of the warehouse crashing down around him, but miraculously he hears a reply through his comm. 

"Red Robin." The reply is punctured by a wheezing cough. Oh God, Dick must not have had his rebreather on him. And there's so much smoke. So much- "C-could use a little help here." 

"I'm here!" he replies instantly. He'll always be here for Dick. "Where are you?" 

"Between previous spot and exit C." 

Bruce created the system for referring to different locations on their missions so they could be found easily. Tim's never been more grateful for it. He rushes towards Nightwing's position. 

He almost trips over him. The older vigilante is low on his belly, clearly trying to crawl for the exit. Tim practically weeps in relief as he kneels beside him, injured, but alive. There's a piece of cloth tied over his face but it seems to be providing minimal protection from the smoke. 

Tim quickly removes his rebreather and forces it into Nightwing's mouth. He can hear the older man sucking in deep grateful breaths even as he himself can feel the smoke trying to force its way into his lungs now that there's nothing protecting him. 

Holding his breath he gets an arm under Dick's shoulder and another under his thighs. There's no time for planning or communicating. He needs to get the two of them out as soon as possible. Dick cries out when Tim lifts him - surely he's injured his leg. There's nothing to be done for it now though and he knows Dick can handle the pain. 

Dick is bigger and heavier than Tim, but the younger vigilante has adrenaline and determination on his side. Thankfully Dick had made decent progress crawling towards the exit, and they aren't far now. Tim continues on, step after grueling step. It's impossible to see, impossible to _breathe_ too, but finally Tim finds himself connecting with solid wall. The wall sways. Another piece of roof falls behind them. 

Tim can't see anything besides black smoke. He has no idea if the exit is left or right, but when he takes a few steps left he meets a wall of flames. There's no way to get through. It will have to be right. 

He hurries along the wall, eyes blind and stinging from the smoke, and lungs burning from lack of oxygen. His arms quiver from the strain of Dick's weight. Just when he isn't sure how much farther he can go, they reach it. He's found the exit. 

His lungs sing in relief the moment he exits the warehouse. The air outside isn't fresh per say, there is smoke billowing out everywhere mixing with the usual grimy Blüdhaven smog, but it's a far cry better than what he'd just been battling against. 

He can hear sirens in the distance. Whether police, the fire department, or both, he's not sure, but while it brings him relief he can also see the henchmen who'd assembled outside starting to panic. 

"None of you move a muscle," he threatens as he continues carrying Dick away from the burning warehouse. 

The men look at each other, but those that he had saved seem to have gained some respect for him and send threatening glares of their own to the would-be-runaways. 

Satisfied, Tim begins scouting a path for their own escape. He needs to get Dick somewhere safe so they can take stock of his injuries. If they're bad enough they might even have to return to the cave for medical attention. Tim isn't looking forward to the lecture he's sure to get from Bruce. He had thought this mission would be a quick in and out. 

Securing a grapple line he tells Nightwing to hold on as it pulls them up to the roof of a nearby building. No sooner has he laid Dick down than he hears the crash of the warehouse finally tumbling in on itself. Turning he sees the flaming pile of rubble where he and Dick had been less than a minute ago. 

It seems like Tim has had nothing but close calls recently. 

He turns back to Dick, guilt and shame rushing back in now that panic and adrenaline are wearing off. It's not bad enough what Tim had done with Clayface last week. Now he'd nearly gotten Dick killed as well. 

If he'd had any hope of salvaging their relationship it's been completely obliterated along with the warehouse. 


	5. Chapter 5

Tim stares down at the chaos they had left, allowing himself to delay the inevitable confrontation with Nightwing for one more moment as he pretends to be checking up on the situation. Below them firefighters are battling the raging flames of the warehouse while Blüdhaven police officers round up the scattered henchmen. In one way or another things are getting under control. Now all that’s left is seeing to Nightwing's injuries. That and making peace with the fact that he has likely destroyed their relationship forever. He swallows around the rock in his throat. It relieves nothing. 

Slowly he pivots back towards his fellow vigilante. Nightwing is sitting across from him on the roof having managed to prop himself up again. The rebreather has been set aside and his breathing seems blessedly normal, but he's prodding gingerly at his left leg. A pained wince strains his face when he touches it. 

Tim swallows again and it sits in his stomach like lead. If he had taken care of everything properly last week none of this would have happened. 

"Here," he says, kneeling down next to Dick, "I know I'm the last person in the world you probably want touching you right now, but can you let me take a look at it?" 

Tim can't meet Dick's face, instead staring resolvedly at his knee. At least the leg looks normal from here. No odd angles or jutting bones. For that at least, he's grateful. 

No reply comes. Each second of silence feels like a knife jabbing further into Tim's heart. Dick must be truly disgusted by him if he’s rejecting his help even when faced with such a debilitating injury. Of course he would be. Pressure builds behind Tim’s eyes and he jumps back as if burned. 

"Sorry, I shouldn't have-" 

"Tim." 

He freezes. Dick's voice doesn't sound angry or repulsed. Instead he sounds almost… concerned. Forcing his eyes up Tim finds Dick with creased eyebrows and lips angled down. 

"Why wouldn't I want you to touch me? That should be my line. I… Anyways. I'd appreciate it if you could help me. I don't think I'm going to be walking away from here on my own tonight - but if it makes you uncomfortable you don't have to force yourself. I can call someone else to come get me." 

Tim stares at Nightwing incredulously. He doesn’t understand. 

“You don’t… hate me?” 

“Of course I don’t hate you. I care about you so much.” Dick punctuates the statement by reaching out and squeezing lightly around Tim’s palm. Tim tenses at the contact but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Even after everything I did to you?” 

“And what exactly have you done to me?” 

“I almost just got you killed for one!” Tim doesn’t mean to shout, but all the stress which has been accumulating in the past week combined with the fact that Dick of all people is trying to defend him creates something volatile within him that needs an explosive outlet. 

“Two-Face’s idiotic henchmen are responsible for the disaster down there Tim, not you. Since when do we blame ourselves for the things Gotham’s rogues do? Keep talking like that and you’ll only be one growth spurt away from literally transforming into B.” Dick shoots him a smile but Tim doesn’t offer one in return. “Besides, I’m perfectly alive here, thank you very much. If you hadn’t come tonight I might not be.” 

Dick’s expression becomes more serious now. Tim looks away again. It's hard to accept Dick's words when he knows he's truly the one at fault. He feels a light squeeze on the hand he’s still letting Dick hold him, encouraging him to reply. This conversation is only going to get more difficult. 

“If I had done my job correctly the first time we wouldn’t even be here,” he whispers out finally. There is nothing Dick can say which will change that fact. It won’t stop the older vigilante from trying though. 

“Tim, what happened last time wasn’t your fault.” Tim feels another squeeze, firmer than the previous one. “Clayface is already strong on his own, and with his shape shifting ability… he could catch any one of us off guard. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

A horrible realization strikes Tim then. The reason Dick is being so calm, so kind, encouragingly holding his hand even after everything Tim had done was because he _didn't know_. He hadn't been there for the beginning. He didn't know the full extent of how Tim had messed up and what he had done. 

"He didn't catch me off guard," Tim admits softly. He could try to hide it. He could accept Dick's perception of things with Tim as an unwitting victim and work to repair their relationship. But that wouldn't be fair to him. Tim needs to tell him the truth. How he'd allowed himself to be duped all for the chance to use Dick's likeness for his own selfishness, and how weak he'd been to stop it when Clayface finally took it too far. 

"What do you mean Tim?" Nightwing finally prompts. A thumb rubs soothing circles over the back of Tim's hand. Tim takes a deep breath. 

"I went with him willingly," he admits. "I was too distracted. It should have been obvious that you wouldn't be there. That you wouldn't act like that." 

Guilt leadens his tongue and he has to stop. It only intensifies as he feels the calming strokes on the back of his hand. Dick won't be trying to comfort him anymore when he learns what Tim did. 

"Act like what?" Dick encourages him again when Tim has been silent for too long. "Clayface is extremely convincing, he's fooled all of us at some point. And with the suddenness and confusion of the situation you can't be blamed if you-" 

"He kissed me!" Tim finally cuts him off. The admission feels like stabbing a dagger into his own chest. The thumb against his hand stills.

"You mean when he… took advantage of you?" 

Tim shudders at the memory and an apologetic squeeze greets his hand again. Dick continues holding on tightly as Tim takes deep breaths and tries to stave off a panic attack. 

"No," he finally chokes out. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as he forces himself to continue on with the most difficult part of the confession. "He kissed me and I kissed him back." 

"Tim…" 

But Tim can't stop, now that he's begun professing his guilt. He has to get everything out. Bare his sins to Dick and reveal just how undeserving of the older man's comfort he really is. 

"It should have been so obvious. You would never do that. But I ignored all the signs. I was selfish. I _let_ him do it. I let him… by the time I realized… I told him to stop but…" 

The hand around his reaches up and before he knows it Tim is caught off guard again as he's pulled forward forcefully. Strong arms wrap around him and it isn't until a gentle hand cradling the back of his head leads him to Nightwing's shoulder that Tim realizes tears are streaking down his face. 

"No Tim, no. It wasn't your fault. I promise. I'm so sorry," Dick murmurs into his hair as Tim continues to sob in his arms. 

They stay that way for a few minutes, Nightwing’s suit absorbing his teardrops until Tim has worn himself out. Finally the roar of the fire and blare of the sirens drag him back into the moment and he reluctantly pulls away from Dick's warmth. 

"So, you wanted me to kiss you?" 

Tim looks up, flushing, as a warm hand cups his cheek and wipes away remaining teardrops with a calloused thumb. When he meets Dick's face he isn't met with disgust or malice, but rather a small, gentle smile. He sniffles and then slowly nods his head in affirmation. 

"Okay. We'll circle back to that one," Dick tells him, kind smile still in place. He doesn't remove the warm hand from Tim's face. "It's time for me to say my piece. Okay?" 

Tim nods again.

"I will keep repeating this until I die: What happened was not your fault. Clayface is responsible for what he did."

"But I took advantage-" 

"Stop." Dick gives him a stern look, but the softness is still visible within it, "My turn, remember? It wasn't your fault. You didn't know it wasn’t me right? He manipulated you." 

"I should have figured it out," Tim juts in despite Nightwing's warnings. The older man sighs and begins running his thumb along Tim's jawline. 

"No, Tim. I saw him too. It was like looking in a mirror. There's always something on a mission we could have done differently, always something that seems obvious in hindsight. That doesn't mean those were realistic in the moment. You can not blame yourself for that." 

Tim isn't completely convinced, but he feels slightly better. He gives a small nod then leans his face more heavily into Dick's palm. Rough fingertips trace the edge of his ear. 

"Clayface is the one responsible for everything. And I hate what he's done to you. Not only for touching you but also for making you feel this way. And for using _my_ face to hurt you. Tim I thought that… I thought that you would never want to see me again after that happened. That looking at me would just bring up bad memories." 

Tim is silent for a moment, letting Dick's touch soothe him. It's true that there are many bad memories still lurking, and that Dick's likeness is at the center of them. But the thought of losing Dick is infinitely more painful than any of those memories. He tells Dick as much and finds himself pulled in close for another all encompassing hug. 

"I don't want to lose you either babybird. Never. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you." 

Soft lips are placed momentarily against his forehead, and Tim realizes he's just gotten his first _real_ kiss from Dick Grayson. 

"Not to ruin the moment," Dick tells him as he pulls away, "but do you think you could help me with this leg now?" 

Tim jerks up immediately. 

"I'm so sorry. You're injured and I've just been blabbing on like an idiot." 

Dick shushes him quickly with a finger to Tim's lips. 

"It's alright,” he says, giving Tim a soft smile, “Physical injuries aren't the only ones that need healing.” 

* * *

“Are you sure you aren’t coming? You know if you feel up for it you have my permission to-” 

“Dra- Timothy requires more time to recover before returning to patrol. Do not force him father.” 

Tim winces. Even Damian’s attempts at being nice come off oddly hostile. He appreciates the little Robin's concern for his well being though.

“Damian, get in the car,” Bruce orders him slightly irritably, clearly not as charmed by the interruption. 

“Tt.” Damian huffs but pulls open the passenger-side door to the Batmobile. 

“Do not bother Timothy, father. He needs space to recover,” he berates him before climbing into the car and slamming the door shut behind him. Somehow Tim has a feeling he is parroting one of Bruce’s own lines back at him. Despite the strange way in which Damian shows his concern, Tim can’t help but find the way his normally irritating little brother is now defending him to be a bit cute. Not that he would ever dare refer to Damian Wayne as "cute" aloud. That would be a surefire way to end up on the bad end of a katana again. 

“Tim.” Bruce brings Tim’s attention away from the darkened windows of the Batmobile and back onto him. “You know I was never trying to punish you-” 

“I know. Bruce, it’s okay, really.” It feels strange to be on this side of the conversation when a few days ago he had been desperately pleading with Bruce to let him back on patrol. “It was the right decision. I’ll be back out soon. But someone’s got to look after him.”

Tim punctuates the statement with a jerk of his shoulder back towards the depths of the cave. Batman’s eyes follow the motion and he gives a little nod of approval.

“Don’t wait up,” he says, truncating the rest of a conversation that could have become emotionally taxing had it been allowed to carry on. Tim just arches an eyebrow. They both know he’s the only member of the family who’s a worse nightowl than Bruce himself. Bruce gives him a blank stare back through the cowl.

“You need rest. Both of you.”

And with that the driver-side door is shut and engine roaring to life the Batmobile takes off into the night. 

After waving them off, Tim treks back to where Dick Grayson, not Nightwing, is seated at the Batcomputer. Tim is still dealing with flashbacks, but it's easier like this: no masks, just Dick's deep blue ocean eyes to reassure him that he's real and that Tim is safe. The older man gives him a warm smile as he approaches and pulls Tim down into his lap. Tim cuddles into his embrace, careful to keep his weight off of Dick’s left leg, and feels warmth flow through him at the press of lips against his cheek. It's only been a few days since the rooftop confession and less than two weeks since Tim's encounter with Clayface. They're taking things slow for now. 

"So, what's on the agenda for this evening?" Tim asks when Dick is finally done smothering him with affection. 

"Well, we can either stay in the cave and listen to Damian whining through the comms all night-" 

"Pass." 

"Or we could go upstairs and watch a movie together?" 

"Much better." 

Grinning, he helps his boyfriend up from the chair and hands him his crutches, prepared to spend a slow night cuddled up on the sofa. Tim still hasn't recovered from what happened the previous week, knowing his brain's obsessive need to replay his mistakes he's not sure if he ever completely will be, but having Dick on his side makes everything so much easier. As their fingers intertwine under the blankets on the sofa, he thinks he just might be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read to the end of this very self-indulgent fic, which as far as I can tell is also the only fic on AO3 to feature Clayface/Tim (well, besides the OTHER Clayface/Tim fic I wrote... I don't know why I get these weird ideas. ^^;;) It was very fun to write and I hope I gave Tim a satisfactory end to make up for being mean to him at the beginning. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading. ^^ Comments and kudos are <3


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